I Have Loved You For a Thousand Years
by Evil Beware We Have Waffles
Summary: John doesn't realize what Sherlock is trying to do until the third time it happens. But also has the mention of two men going at it.


Title: I Have Loved You For A Thousand Years  
>Author: Evil Beware We Have Waffles<br>Rating: T, bordering a bit on an M.  
>Spoilers: None.<br>Word Count: 2886  
>Warnings: This fic is filled with a crapload of headcanons, and the mention of two incredibly attractive men going at it.<br>Based on this prompt my friend gave me: **Can I please just have a fic where Sherlock doesn't want to say I love you, so instead he just follows John around reminding him of all the things he did right that day, until John realizes what's going on and says, "I love you too."** So, why yes, Sarah, yes you can. :)  
>AN: Song title from A Thousand Years by Christina Perri.

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><p>Sherlock isn't the type to say, "I love you". Sherlock isn't the type for relationships, or to sleep next to a warm body at night. Because, frankly, if Sherlock could make his work into a solid shape, he would sleep next to that if he could. Yet, whatever the hell he and John are, whatever they're doing with their small, scarce kisses, and the breathless sounds that seep through the walls of 221B Baker Street, it means something to Sherlock. John knows it. Sherlock screamed it in his face – <em>I care about you, you idiotic ass!<em> – It's true. John knows it.

So despite the fact that whenever John says, or whispers – and sometimes screams, if the situation is appropriate that he loves Sherlock and all Sherlock does is hold him closer, or press a kiss to his temple, John is quite happy with the whole situation he has going on here. Because he knows, that inside Sherlock, somewhere deep inside, he loves John. It's in there deep – too deep sometimes, for John's liking, but he understands it's not who Sherlock _is_. He doesn't tell people he loves them, or cares about them. He usually insults them, or deduces everything about them long enough to just tell him to frick off, but he never ever would tell someone his feelings about them. It took years for Sherlock to admit to John that he simply cared about him. But, really, John was fine with the silence that he and Sherlock lived in, most of the time it was comforting.

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><p>John was sitting in his chair in 221B Baker Street after a long day in the lab with Molly and Sherlock, which had been very tiring, when Sherlock came strutting into the sitting room from the kitchen, and going to sit down in his own chair across from John. John can feel Sherlock's eyes boring into his forehead but he tries to ignore it, and finally settles back down into the book he was reading.<p>

"You're thinking," Sherlock says quietly, the words slightly muffled through his palm that was resting against his mouth as he leaned his arm on the arm of the chair. "You're not focusing on that book, you've been on the same page since I left the room ten minutes ago, and your eyes aren't focusing on the words or moving as if you're scanning the page, they're focusing to the top and staying still – you're not reading, you're obviously thinking. What are you thinking about John?"

John sighs and closes his book, looking up at Sherlock and shakes his head. "Nothing, nothing is wrong, Sherlock, I'm quite fine," John says evenly, giving a yawn and standing up, but Sherlock immediately stands up in front of him. "Sherlock, I'm fine," John insists, "And, anyway, if something was wrong wouldn't you be able to tell me exactly what it was?"

Sherlock obviously thinks about that for a moment, his eyes scanning John's face, before letting out a short sigh. "I was trying to be a kind…" he hesitates, and John thinks for a moment that he's actually going to say _it_, before – "I was just trying to be kind to you, because you seem off - are off – and I wanted to make sure you're okay." There's a pause. "You're okay, John? You aren't upset?"

John smiles slightly for a moment. "I'm fine, Sherlock – just tired, I promise you. It was just a long day, we don't usually spend the whole day in the lab, and I find it to be quite draining to be in there for the whole day, that's all. I'm distracted because I can't focus on the book, so I think I'm going to …" John says, motioning to step past Sherlock.

Sherlock nods curtly, before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the top of John's head – a simple gesture that John has noticed Sherlock is quite fond of, instead of a goodnight kiss.

"Goodnight, John," he says.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." John returns.

John heads up towards his bed – well, Sherlock's bed. But … their bed he supposes, now, that they're – them. John hasn't slept in the extra room on the top floor in a couple of months now. He and Sherlock always share a bed. Sherlock is on the left, that's the side he prefers, and John sleeps on the right. They've cleared room in Sherlock's dresser and wardrobe – which was just full of a few shirts, and the rest were lab books and papers and … other questionable things, not much clothing – and put some of John's own shirts and sweaters in there as well.

John changes out of his clothes, and puts them in the hamper for him to start on the laundry tomorrow. – Sherlock doesn't know how, says it's useless information for him to keep in his brain. He dresses in his flannel pyjamas and crawls into the bed, feeling sleep already coming upon him. He was so drained from the day, he didn't know quite what it was about the lab, but he found it tiring. He soon found himself drifting off into a comfortable sleep.

It's probably not long after that John feels Sherlock pressing a dry kiss onto his jawline. He groans slightly in his sleep, and opens his eyes, finding Sherlock's large ones peering down at him. He glances over at the clock and sees 1:38 AM flashing on it, and he turns to glare at Sherlock, before trying to roll over and fall back to sleep.

"John, w-wait," Sherlock calls out, pushing John back onto his back, before pressing another kiss onto John's jaw because he knows for a fact that John likes that a lot, and it actually makes him always forget about what he's upset about. "I wanted to let you know that you were … a great help in the lab today … with the case. Phenomenal, actually." Sherlock murmurs.

John manages to crack one eye open and peer at Sherlock. Was he still asleep?

"Did you just compliment me?" he mumbles.

Sherlock doesn't make eye contact, instead he presses another kiss to John's jaw, this time a bit more slowly and John sighs.

"Sherlock, no, it's almost two in the morning," John says, swatting sleepily at Sherlock's shoulder.

"Not sleepy," Sherlock whispers against John's neck, pressing more feverish kisses on the tanned, warm skin. John continues to swat at his shoulder, until Sherlock pulls away with a sigh, flopping down next to John, and immediately tucking his head into John's shoulder – his spot – and curling up into a ball in John's side, a usual position.

"'Night," John mumbles again, leaning his head so his cheek is pressed up against Sherlock's forehead, and he slowly drifts off to sleep once again, with Sherlock pressed gently against him.

He wakes up a few hours later at eight in the morning, with Sherlock trailing kisses from his chest down to his stomach.

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><p>Another thing Sherlock isn't the type to do, is to be completely public about the "relationship" they were in. Only a few people know, and John didn't even have to tell them. The first person to know was Mrs. Hudson, she found out after the first night when they … <em>well<em>, when they were intimate, telling them they were a bit too loud last night, with a smile and a slight wink, causing Sherlock to actually start choking on his morning coffee. The second person to know, was Mycroft, and he found out by actually walking into the flat, to find Sherlock pressing John up against the wall, his mouth attached firmly to John's throat, and his hands up under a classic John Watson sweater, and whatever Mycroft was angry with Sherlock suddenly disintegrated into the air as silence passed over the three of them.

So, no, Sherlock was not very open with the fact that, yes he was in a sexual relationship with a man and that man was John Watson. He was still more in the – _this is John Watson, my… uh, friend and colleague_ – phase. Which honestly was fine with John, he liked the secrecy, no one treated them any different. Plus, he knew what the newspapers would start to say if they found out about the relationship, it could almost be like they were some pop stars that the fans wanted to stay together forever. Plus, John knew that they would be questioned about their relationship, and he would hate that, and so would Sherlock.

Silence was nice. The two of them quite liked the silence that was their sexual and romantic relationship.

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><p>After another long day of running around London, trying to solve a case, John and Sherlock stumbled into 221B absolutely exhausted – or at least, John was, and if Sherlock was, he surely wasn't showing it. John immediately took off his coat, hanging it up before going to sit down in his chair and laying his head back, closing his eyes.<p>

"That was … god, that was exhilarating! Wasn't it John?" Sherlock was going off, pacing around the room, taking off his coat and swinging it down over his chair and starting to pace with a crazy look in his eye, and that Sherlock smile plastered on his face. "It was the angry _brother_, always the mistreated one – always! Genius! You're a genius for figuring that out, John!" Sherlock cries, immediately crawling into John's lap, who let out a soft grunt, before looking up at Sherlock.

"I'm what?" John asks.

"You're a genius!" cries Sherlock, grabbing John's face with his hands and pressing a quick kiss onto his mouth, settling down into his lap some more, his smile wild and slightly childish causing John to smile back at him goofily.

"I—well, thank you," John stutters slightly, his smile still on his face, and shrugging slightly, before Sherlock is bringing their mouths together a little more forcefully, his hands pressing gently into John's stomach, and turning his head to already deepen the kiss, causing John to gasp into Sherlock's mouth a bit.

There was another thing Sherlock wasn't the type to do, act like he has some sort of sex drive. Though, John knows where this is coming from, from the adrenaline of solving another case tonight, it's usual, and this way Sherlock can usually get off from his work. Not that he doesn't want to get off from John, but this is really the only time that Sherlock would even consider having sex if John didn't try to subtly hit at it – which, you know with Sherlock, subtlety isn't even existent.

Sherlock presses forward into John for a moment, letting his tongue dart out to lick softly at John's bottom lip, causing the older man to shiver into Sherlock's mouth and let out a small moan that could have easily be passed as gasp as well, and Sherlock presses even closer, his hand trailing up John's chest and onto his neck as he sucks gently on John's tongue because, oh_god_ he knows John _loves it_ when the does that.

Sherlock pulls away, shuddering slightly and looks at John for a moment, his eyes dark, and he leans forward to place his forehead on John's shoulder, still curled up in his lap – which still surprises John, to be honest, because Sherlock is so tall, so when he curls up into John's lap he's literally just a ball of limbs curled up into the tightest shape possible on John's lap.

"You've been complimenting me a lot lately," John says, his voice slightly rough and deeper from the fact that Sherlock just mauled his mouth, and is currently tracing the pattern though his thin, plaid shirt with his long fingers, and it's sort of really distracting in that way he doesn't want it to stop.

Sherlock doesn't say anything for a moment, still tracing the pattern, his head turned now so his forehead was pressing up against John's neck. "I suppose," he mumbles quietly. "Is there something _wrong_ with that?"

"N-no," John says, now whispering for some reason. "Just – different, not exactly your forté."

Sherlock chuckles, deep and low in the back of his throat, and sits up meeting eyes with John and laying his hand flat on John's chest, "I just – want to let you know that you're special is all," Sherlock whispers, his pale skin turning the faintest of pink. "You know – you were a great help tonight, such … such an amazing help, I couldn't have done it without you, Doctor Watson."

John smiles at the formal name, and leans forward to kiss Sherlock again, bringing his hand up to his chest to take Sherlock's hand and squeeze gently, before pulling away. "Let's go to bed, yeah?"

Sherlock smiles, eyes narrowing on John and he knows he's just figured out what John wants to do. He stands up, giving John one last look with those goddamn eyes before almost _purring_, "Yes, _such_ a great help indeed, Doctor Watson," and then saunters off towards the bedroom to only which John can respond by letting his head drop against the back of the chair and smile for a moment, before getting up and following Sherlock back towards their bed.

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><p>John doesn't realize what Sherlock is trying to do until the third time it happens. It happens after a casual day, really, not much had been going on for the two of them. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and John was lounging on his chair reading the daily newspaper, while Sherlock was curled up like some sort of cat staring blankly at a wall in his own chair across from John.<p>

It's been quiet for the longest time, before John sees from over the top of his paper that Sherlock is sitting up and staring quietly at John. It's not that odd, really, Sherlock will sometimes just stare at John for a while, it doesn't really bother John as much as it used to. Sherlock just says when he's bored he needs to study something and figure out whatever he can from it: the last time they showered, how old their clothes are, what could be bothering them at the moment. It used to bother John a lot, it was just a man staring at you and figuring out everything about you, but now things were quite different (like "Sherlock-has-seen-me-naked-on-numerous-occasions" different) and it didn't bother John anymore, he simply just let Sherlock study him in the way he needed to be.

John finishes the newspaper and sets it down on the coffee table, looking over at Sherlock and meeting his gaze, smiling softly at the man across from him.

"You're in love," Sherlock murmurs, sitting back in his chair slightly.

John blushes, coughing slightly and staring at his hands. That was something he was _not_ expecting at all. "I, well," he lets out a breath, "Yes I am. You know that."

Sherlock smiles, "Yes I do know that," he says back, and then all goes quiet for a few moments, and Sherlock leans across the room for a moment and takes John's hands in his and looks up at John, eyes full of … affection. Something you don't see on Sherlock that often. John's heart picks up, because for a moment he thinks Sherlock is actually going to say it back, say it to him, say that he loves him, he thinks Sherlock is going to say "I love you John" and for the first time ever John can say "I love you too", but instead—

"You are … the best colleague, and … l-lover anyone could ever ask for," Sherlock says quietly, sounding even sad for himself a little, and John tries not to show how visibly upset he is by it, before suddenly something hits him that should have hit him a long time ago.

He squeezes Sherlock's hand, looking up to smile at him, "I love you too, you idiot," he murmurs, and Sherlock's eyes flash up to his for a moment, and his lips twitch into a slight smile as he holds John's hands a bit tighter.

"I'm not the idiot," Sherlock murmurs, "It didn't take me weeks to figure out what I was trying to say, I would have deduced it in a minute," he whispers, before leaning across and pressing a kiss on John's mouth.

"Not everyone is you, Sherlock," John mumbles against Sherlock's mouth, before the taller man is pulling away and looking at John. "Not everyone is you," John repeats, "And honestly you're one of the most confusing men I've ever met."

Sherlock smirks, pressing another kiss on John's mouth. "I think you're brilliant," he whispers.

John just smiles. "I love you too, Sherlock."

Maybe John didn't say it the way he would have wanted, but he knows Sherlock doesn't do the whole feeling thing, and he knows Sherlock would have trouble admitting to anyone that he loved them. But John knows exactly what Sherlock is trying to do with this, he's just simply telling John he loves him in the only way he can, in the only way he knows how. Maybe one day Sherlock will spring it upon John, maybe when he's least expecting it, but for right now, John is definitely okay with random compliments coming from the one and only Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
